…and sprinted up the glass-strewn sidewalk. He crouched momentarily behind a low pile of rotting lumber. After a quick scan without identifying any outward signs of danger, he sprang back up the steps and braced his back against the wall.
“Jeff!” He whispered and carefully squatted beside Andrews. He reached out, and gently shook a limp leg without taking his eyes off the surrounding debris.
Hurry up, guys. He’s not moving!
“Jeff!” He gave Andrews’ foot a shake. The heavy, unresponsive weight of his fellow lawman’s leg was all he needed to know.
Ominous rumblings and deep wooden groans sounded as if huge objects shifted inside the building just as the first police cars screeched to a stop. Sirens howled, covering any further sounds. Flashing lights slashed through the peaceful dusk of early evening.
Momentary terror gave way to absolute panic as Cody rushed toward the friends who would understand his horror. At the sight of the fleeing constable, armed and anxious officers scrambled around to the safe side of the vehicles and leaned over their shotguns.
“Someone inside killed Jeff!”
He virtually flew around the bumper of a newly arrived patrol car. His feet slipped on loose gravel. The terrified young man fell hard, smelling leaking antifreeze and burned brake pads.
“How many?” came a grim voice.
“I don’t know,” Cody gasped, urgently shoving with his feet and coming to rest with his back against the blackwall’s hubcap. “I don’t even know how he was killed, but he’s dead.”
There’s not a whole hell of a lot I do know about this situation, except that there’s this tunnel made of trash and something killed Andrews and for all I know it’s gnawing on his head like a peach pit right now.
More help arrived in answer to the call, along with the first ambulance, a glorified station wagon operated by the Cobb and Oaks funeral home. In minutes, Howard Avenue was impassable, jammed with white cars. The strobe effect lit the entire the street with revolving lights.
Homeowners emerged, drawn toward the action and noise. Police officers frantically waved the idiot gawkers back. “Get down! Get back inside!”
…or at least stand in the clear so the creeps in there can have a clear shot at you and I can see where they are…
Slow moving residents backed away from the frustrated officers. Car radios crackled with orders. Men scrambled for cover and waited for something to happen for several long minutes before tension began to bleed off. Finally, the lack of activity sparked the first arrivals to check on the injured deputy.
Under the cover of more than a dozen cocked weapons, two ambulance drivers and two armed sheriff’s deputies broke cover, ran through the main arch in the gathering darkness, and jarred to a stop on either side of Andrews’ legs. A dim yellow glow from his still burning flashlight washed an eerie incandescence around the still body. Carlton Evans, the oldest and most experienced of the ambulance drivers shook the officer’s leg.
Getting no response, they tried to drag Andrews free. He didn’t budge. Still not sure if they were going to come under fire, Carlton quickly cut Andrew’s pant leg, reached in and felt the inside of his thigh for the big femoral artery. He pressed firmly with his fingertips, praying for a pulse.
Carlton removed Andrew’s left shoe and sock while Harvey Glasscock opened a folding knife and passed it to his partner. Carlton pricked the sole of Andrews’ foot with a sharp knife in an effort to elicit a response of pain.
He shook his head at his partner when he detected no signs of life.
When that failed they soon realized they were poking a cadaver.
The scared and frustrated men retrieved their gear, and still covered by the two officers, backed slowly to the safe zone behind the patrol cars.
Not sure what to do in the bizarre situation, everyone waited for a supervisor outside of the silent, surrounded warehouse.
Chapter Nineteen
I’d never seen those two old men move so fast. They shoved off from the counter in a flash and headed for the doors without a word.
“Shit!” Pepper said as we spilled off our own stools. Grandpa stopped and turned around as he reached the door. “You kids cain’t go. Carlina, you’re about to close. Take them home with you and…”
She gave him a horrified look. “They can’t go home with me tonight, Ned. Darren ain’t working and he’s been mean as a snake this week. I can’t have him drinking around these little ones.”
I’d heard of Darren’s meanness. He drank a lot and folks said he was known to hit Carlina, but I couldn’t see how anyone could hurt somebody like her.
Grandpa searched for someone else to help, but the only customers left were the old couple, and he didn’t know them well enough to ask.
“Fine, then. Y’all come with us, but you ain’t-a stayin’ long. I’ll find somebody to take you to Neva Lou’s after a while. Now, c’mon, we gotta git!”
Him and Mr. O.C. led the way into the darkness and around the corner, heading toward Grandpa’s car parked in front of the picture show. Pepper and I ran easily behind them as they cut across the street, holding out their hands as cars squalled to a stop.
We dove into the backseat as Grandpa and Mr. O.C. slammed the front doors. I knew how Grandpa drove, and if we hadn’t already been in the car, he would have left us standing on the curb. As it was, he hit the starter, then reverse, and shot out of the diagonal parking space, nearly hitting a pickup that barely swerved out of the way.
The truck’s driver set down on the horn.
“Don’t kill us driving over there.” Mr. O.C. spoke as calm as you please.
Grandpa ignored him and snapped the radio on. It worked for once and we heard the excited voices of lawmen driving hard to help one of their own.
Chapter Twenty
Bald tires, shredded tires, and rotten tires, stacked and tossed…
***
Police officers worked their way down the potholed streets, beating on doors to wake neighbors and escort them to a safe area behind the hastily erected barricades far away from the ominous scene.
They cleared the nearest homes on the south side of the trail station. White officers shouting orders at the black occupants immediately scared half of the residents and made the other half fighting mad.
“Mister Officer, y’all gonna have to let me take my time,” one heavyset gray haired old woman begged as she struggled to keep her thin house dress closed.
A white deputy did his best to hustle her down the street. “I don’t have time. We need to move!”
“But I cain’t walk fast.”
Deputy John Washington appeared from nowhere. “Dale, take your hands off Miss Sweet.”
Only the second black deputy in Chisum’s history, Big John was an almost mythical presence on both sides of the tracks. He handled the law work that Sheriff Griffin’s biased officers usually ignored, and involved himself in any case where his people found themselves in the crosshairs.
The deputy turned toward Big John. “She’s got to listen to what we’re saying. One of our people is dead over yonder and we need to clear this entire area!”
“I know it.” John’s deep voice rumbled low and calm. “But Miss Sweet didn’t have nothin’ to do with that, and she’s old. She cain’t walk fast.” He gently removed Dale’s hand from his old aunt’s arm and replaced it with his own, putting himself between her and the Exchange. “Now, everybody just needs to calm down. Miss Sweet, hold onto me and c’mon.”
“I cain’t walk far John.”
“Yessum, we’re going right over yonder to Leroy Douglas’ house and he’s gonna put you in his car and drive you to Miss Peaches.”
“Well, I cain’t leave without m’sack. It has all my jars and medicine herbs.”
Miss Sweet acted as a healer in the colored community. She doctored anyone who asked, black or white, and often acted as a midwife for both black and white folks as far away as Center Springs or Tigertown.
John st
opped and waved at a skinny cousin he recognized. He knew nearly every colored person in Chisum, and was kin to a good number of those who lived there. They all listened when he spoke. “Nehemiah, run back in Miss Sweet’s house and get her medicine bag. Where is it Auntie?”
“I set it by the table when I was eatin’ my supper.”
He turned back to Nehemiah. “It’s on the floor, and hurry.”
Miss Sweet held onto his big arm. “This ain’t right, what they’re doing, draggin’ folks out their houses without a by-your-leave. What’s going on?”
Big John smiled down at the wrinkled face of Miss Peaches’ twin. “What they’re doing is fine. It’s the right thing, Auntie. They just going about it the wrong way.”
“What are these white Laws hollering about, John?” A young man with thick glasses asked, mad at the rude treatment. More frustrated people gathered around John. He felt the rising anger on the street.
“They scared of something. Other’n that, I don’t have any idee, but we’ll find out. Go on down out the way and find somewhere’s else to wait.” John raised his voice so the others could hear. “Y’all listen to these men here and I’ll be back directly when I know something.”
Nehemiah came back out with the heavy muslin sack. “Is this what you wanted Miss Sweet?”
“That’s it. Bless you child.” She took the sack, hooked the long strap over her thick shoulder, and fussed at the contents for a moment while John and Nehemiah patiently waited. “Lawdy mercy, I can’t go nowhere ’thout my medicines. Somebody might need them ’fore we get back. What if somebody has a spell, or somebody gets hurt? In fact, baby, I’spect y’all should let me stay close by in case you need me. What if you get hurt, John? These folks ain’t-a-gonna take care of you like I can. Now you know that’s right.”
“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t need to worry about you gettin’ hurt. You go with Leroy and he’ll bring you right back if something happens, or they’ll bring me to Miss Peaches’ house and y’all can doctor away. Is that all right?”
She thought about his suggestion as she finished her brief inventory. Satisfied that everything was in place, she handed it back. “That’ll be all right, hon. Now, Nehemiah, you tote this for me honey.”
“Yessum.”
Wearing only his pants and undershirt, Leroy Douglas was already outside. He took over for John and helped Miss Sweet into the front seat of his car. Four others climbed into the back seat as Leroy slipped behind the steering wheel and carefully drove his frightened passengers through the gathering crowd.
As Big John turned, the sheriff’s cruiser passed slowly through the barricade and stopped beside the makeshift command post. Deputy Washington officially answered to Sheriff Donald Griffin on paper, but in reality, he worked for Judge O.C. Rains. “Now, y’all simmer down till I find out what’s what and don’t nobody go acting the fool tonight. We don’t need that kind of trouble. Looks like we got enough up there by the tracks as it is.”
Sheriff Griffin turned off the engine and stepped out, radiating authority. “All right, what have we got here?” He settled his belt and joined a cluster of uniformed patrolmen behind one of the first cars to arrive on the scene.
The beefy Griffin was the image of a Texas lawman from his Stetson hat, crows-feet in the corners of his eyes, and a heavy gray mustache. The entire affectation, along with the pearl handled Colt .45 revolver on his hip, gave rise to smirks behind his back.
“I want all these vehicles out of here right now. Clear this out all the way back to the intersection.”
His men jumped at the order, glad to do something productive. They untangled the haphazardly parked emergency vehicles. The growing crowd of residents waited to see what would happen next.
“Why are all these…Negroes…standing around here in the way?”
A couple of the men hid grins behind their hands. Others shifted uncomfortably.
It was nothing new to John. He scratched at the short hair underneath his hat brim, in an unconscious imitation of Ned Parker. “They live here, Sheriff.”
Surprised that John heard him, Griffin simply nodded. “Tow them cars if you can’t find someone with the keys.” He turned toward the massive building, talking almost to himself. “I’ve always hated this place.” He saw a very unnerved Cody squatting against the wheel of a nearby police car and walked over as men rushed between the cars. “What have we got here, son?”
Cody raised his eyes and ran shaky fingers through his hair. He’d lost his hat when he slipped and fell. “We came by to check on a report that Kendal Bowden might be hiding out here.”
Griffin listened with a troubled expression until Cody haltingly told his story. When he finished, the sheriff frowned. “I’m sure I heard you wrong. The Exchange is full of what?”
Cody shifted uncomfortably. “Junk from all over town, I guess.”
Sergeant Thomas Blair shifted a chew of Redman into his right cheek. The rock-solid police officer took stock of the situation as soon as he arrived and began to sort out the details. A fireplug of a man with abnormally short arms, Blair quickly saw that no one had taken charge of directing the scene. Though he officially answered only to Police Chief Mayhew, the lack of organization was more than he could stand. He immediately issued orders and planned to continue until the police chief told him to stand down, or Sheriff Griffin assigned one of his own men to act as the incident commander.
“Sheriff, he’s right.” Blair waved a hand toward the Exchange. “My guys poked around as much as they could, and from what we’ve been able to see, this entire floor is filled with trash all the way to the ceiling. Someone has been stacking garbage inside for months and maybe years. From what Andrews said before he got…well, they might have left a way to enter and move around through tunnels in there just like the one he’s trapped in.”
“Garbage,” Griffin repeated flatly trying to understand the situation. “Like tin cans, bones, coffee grounds…”
“No, sir. Well, yeah, I reckon, there might be some of that.” Blair tried to find the right words to adequately explain the situation they faced. “It’s like someone packed this place with stuff they wanted to save. So far we’ve identified bundles of newspapers…lots of newspapers, televisions, rolls of carpet, magazines, furniture of all kinds, household items, cardboard, papers, and that’s what we can see around Jeff’s body. You can see it in the windows, pushing through the paper shades like them they tore off over there.”
Blair spat a stream of brown juice onto the ground. “I guess the best way to describe it is if somebody hauled everything from the town dump and filled the place up.”
Griffin nodded. “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard of. Williams!” he called to a deputy across the street. The lawman had already lost his temper and was ordering a family to leave their barking dog and get down the street, out of whatever danger was nearby. He turned his back on the angry and confused family to join the men standing beside the car.
“Sir?”
“Get your people to start questioning these folks and find somebody who has an idea about whether anyone lives here or not. I need to know a lot more. At least find someone who’s been inside.” He turned to the men behind him, immediately dismissing Williams and knowing the patrolman would get the job done. The Exchange had been there for decades. Surely a neighbor remembered the layout, or knew what was going on.
“Thomas,” Griffin continued, “You see if you can get me current information on the owner of this place, too.”
Sergeant Blair nodded, leaned into his car, and picked up the Motorola’s microphone. Before he could key the mike, Griffin stopped him with another question.
“Have we heard anything from inside?”
“No, sir. Not since we arrived. We haven’t gotten much out of Cody either except Andrews is dead.”
Griffin didn’t like surprises. A familiar knot gripped his stomach. Dealing with domestic disputes, drunks, traffic violations, and even bank robbers was fai
rly easy for the experienced lawman, because he’d trained for it. He knew what to do in each case and if the situation changed, he knew how to change with it. The ominous structure in front of them was a mystery, completely baffling, and frightening.
“They should have torn this place down years ago.”
Big John nodded and stared past the patrol car at the body in the front door. “They probably would have, but it’s on our side of the tracks, and that don’t make it too important.”
Griffin ignored him and turned to his men. A generator growled to life and harsh trailer-mounted floodlights bathed the scene in stark, white luminescence. Spotlights snapped alive and crisscrossed the exterior to the roofline, five stories overhead. Andrews’ bare leg glowed in the harsh light. The door in which he was pinned appeared tiny in comparison to the building.
Griffin studied the brick edifice. The 360-degree view from the high roof would be perfect for keeping watch on the community and was an ideal shooting platform. From the high perch, anyone with a good rifle, and everyone in Chisum had a deer rifle, could control an incredibly large area around the Exchange.
“Get a scope on that roof line. I want to know if even a chi-chi bird lands on a window ledge. And I want to know for sure what’s inside. If those tunnels are like you said, I want to take this slow and careful. Call Carlton White and have him bring that German Shepherd of his out here. We’re going to need him.”
He turned from his dead man pinned in the door. “We may have to send a dog in once we get Andrews out. Dogs are expendable. My deputies aren’t.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Equipment identifiable only to morticians, wooden barrels of all sizes, wagon wheels, singletrees, doubletrees, blacksmith billows, filthy clothing, buckets…
***
Deputy John Washington stayed close to Sheriff Griffin at the now bustling command post. “This is your part of town, John. Tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know nothin’. I heard Cody’s call while I was checking on things in Sugar Bear’s parking lot, then I run right over here and when I saw he was all right, I came to you.” He made no mention of the sudden flaring tempers when the deputies hurried people from their homes. It wouldn’t have made any difference, because Griffin would have listened politely, then ignored the entire incident.
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